The Indebted Dead
by iwillwrite4you4ever
Summary: Based off Tim Burton's movie. Lady Van Tassel is dead, and it's been fifty years since Ichabod returned the Hessian's head, but the Hessian, suffering memory loss, is stuck on this earthly plane and aims to find out why. Rated M for scenes and language.
1. And now I weave a tale

I don't own any recognisable characters from the story. Morgan Price is my own invention, but she is so deeply entwined into the story that I can't claim her either. I'm sorry its such a short chapter. I'll do better, I promise.

Morgan Price woke up in the forest, confused, bewildered, and in a lot of pain. She slowly got to her feet, winced as her joints cracked sullenly, and looked around. She was deep in the Western Woods. She did not know how she had arrived here, and, what was more, why, but, after checking the position of the sun, set off for home. Pulling leaves out of her hair and brushing them off her dress, she did not notice the darkly dressed man who peered out of the trees at her. His blue eyes glinted in the green-filtered sunlight as he watched her beat her way through all the lowhanging branches. The man smiled thinly at the woman's retreating back. She looked so familiar, but he could not place her face to a name. Why had she come stumbling through the underbrush last night, rousing the small creatures who, curled up in their snug little dens, must have huddled together in fear when she came trampling, screaming someone's name-'Klaus! Klaus, where are you?'-before finally tripping over a fallen tree and falling unconscious, her prone body spread out on a blanket of years-old leaves. She was rather pretty, the man thought, at least when she shut up. Her calls had roused him, as they had roused every other creature in fen and wood in five mile's radius; the man, first angered, then baffled, then intriguied, had stalked her through the woods last night. As he pondered on who her Klaus was, he made his way-silently, at least-back to the gnarled little tree he was always drawn to. The damn thing was old, looked like it had been struck by lightning, and shaped like a howling, accursed spirit bursting from the depths of hell, arms reaching up, trying to grab the clouds upon which heaven's golden paradise was, and pull itself up from the tortures and grinning demons, into the cool embraces of the angels, the calm smiles of the blessed and the pure. It looked the way the man felt. He longed to leave this plane of existence; who he was, he had no idea, but that he was not like the men who lived in the village, that he knew all too well. He would even take hell, if it meant he could leave. But he did not know how, and it haunted him. He had been brought back by a woman who looked like a proud angel, but who he quickly learned was a spiteful, haughty witch. She had held his head, and ordered him to kill, kill on the most absurd charges, charges she made up. But he had no choice but to answer; her cold soul-magic kept him bound to her, and to this horrible place. Then a man, a man from the city, had come, and he had given him back his head and broken the spell over him. But still, he was bound. By what? He had reached the tree, the one that reached and waved and stared despairingly at the sky. The roots opened, and the man stepped inside his small, earthen home.

If you want more, mi hermanos, mi hermanas, review. ^^ I will write more if you spend just a few minutes of your time. Writing is SOOOO difficult, after all.


	2. In which I spin the web

Again, my dear readers, I own nothing but Morgan Price. Heart you all, read on. I hope this chapter's longer for you all. ^^

The room was tiny and bare. It smelt of earth. A black horse stood, munching hay, in a clumsily erected stable. The man went to the horse and it nuzzled his cheek with a velvety nose. He smiled. There were two shelves on the wall, one holding riding equipment, the other, a few skulls. The man stared at them in disgust, slipped on a patch of wet ground, and plummeted, bruising his head on the poor floor. The horse whinnied as if laughing. Spitting out dirt and rubbing his bruise, the man sat up. _Klaus._ A voice whispered insistantly in his head. _Klaus._ The man shook his head. "I know no Klauses." He said into the still air. _Klaus._ The voice said stubbornly. "No." The man said louder. _KLAUS._ _KLAUS. KLAUS. KLAUS._ The man figured he'd hit his head again. "I don't know any Klaus!" He cried. _KLAUS! KLAUS! KLAUS! KLAUS! KLAUS! KLAUS! KLAUS! KLAUS! KLAUS! KLAUS! KLAUS! KLAAAAAAAAAAAAUS! _'I DON'T KNOW YOUR KLAUS!" He yelled. _You are Klaus._ The man had a vision of himself riding a black steed hard into battle, sword raised, while men cheered him in German-"Iron Klaus!" The man-Klaus-blinked. His mind flew to the woman. It had been seventy five years since he had had a name. Klaus. He looked to the horse. "Daredevil," He said fondly, and he rubbed the velvet nose. The brown eyes smiled affectionately at him, and he saddled the horse, swung up into the stirrups, and rode out into the night with the horse's joyful neigh ringing in his ears.

Morgan prepared a stew out of vegetables from her garden and rabbit meat. Her blood froze in her veins and a whisper in her mind-_he's coming_... She dropped the spoon she was stirring with, put her children in the cellar and stood, facing her door, just as heavy footfalls sounded on her porch. She grabbed a poker and stood tensely, expecting the door to slam inwards, expecting splinters of oak to shower her, and expecting him to step through the wreckage, leering. Where was her husband? Why didn't he come down at the ruckus? Then she remembered her husband had broken his back and could do nothing to help her.

He did not enter as she expected him to. He opened the door quietly, almost hesitantly, and stepped in like a man coming home from work. His footfalls were loud and echoed in her ears. His eyes were a beautiful, electrofying blue, deep and cold like ice chips. His hair was mussed and stood up on his head, making him three inches taller. His lips were full and white, and behind them, like mini mountains, were his jagged, pointed teeth, just as she had heard in the stories. Morgan made a whimpering sound as he advanced upon her, face deadly serious, eyes... somehow curious. "Why were you calling my name?" He said harshly, his voice thickened by some accent or another. "How do you know me?" Morgan protested that she didn't, and had never called the name of the Headless Horseman. The man seemed confused. "That is what the living ones call me? Headless Horseman?" Morgan did not answer, but hefted her poker. It was iron and felt heavy; it would be no proper weapon for defending herself from him. "No, please don't hurt me!" She screamed as he moved his arm up to block a potential swing. Later, she would reflect on why she'd have said this. The Horseman looked nervous now. He looked out the window, turned and fled. Morgan sat on a chair, and her neighbour, Frederick Von Gjiberten, looked in through the door politely, holding a rifle. "You OK, Morgan?" She wanted to grab his lapels and say; "The Horseman was here, he was going to kill me! He was going to kill me!" But she didn't. She looked up at him, smiled a smile she could not feel on her face, and nodded. "Oh, I'm fine, Mr. Von Gjiberten. Thought I saw the Horseman." She laughed. Von Gjiberten did not. He looked nervously up at the sky. "Maybe you did, miss. It's a witches' moon t'night. Devil has sway, and he's of the devil, ain't he? G'night, miss." And he left. Morgan spooned the rabbit stew into two bowls, and went upstairs to eat with her crippled husband, John. Conversation was sparse between them; their relationship was tense. Morgan's mind flew back to the Horseman and his strange questions repeatedly. His face had looked familiar, hadn't it? Had she really been calling his name?

And the mystery deepens.


	3. To bring you deeper into my stories

Here's chapter three, loyal readers! I own nothing but Morgan. To septemberfall; i chose the name Klaus for the Hessian, simply because it rings in my mind; when I think of the Hessian, Klaus is what comes into my head next. hehe. Come on, people, more reviews. MAKE ME WANT TO WRIIIIIIIIIITE! -_- *scold scol scold nag nag nag*

Klaus lay in his tree, lazing around like your average log, staring at the brownish-black walls and thinking, thinking about his past, and pondering on the misty patches in his memory. He had not heard the whispering voice since it had told him his name. Daredevil, his loyal black horse, stood in his stall, nickering softly. Klaus tried to concentrate on a misty spot in his memory. His head started hurting, but he forced his way through it. He saw himself, surrounded by American soldiers. His head ached worse. They attacked him, and he killed a few. His head was white agony, and he pulled back from the memory, holding his head. What had happened?

(those star things that indicate a change of setting and time)

Morgan sighed softly. It was very cold down here, and since John could not sleep with company, she slept on a pallet in front of a dying fire. The cold wood under her body could not be comfortable. The dark mass of trees that was the Western Woods was etched against the sky; a darker black standing against a pinpricked cape. She could not sleep. Terror coursed through her veins. The Hessian. The Hessian. The Hessian. What if he came back? What if I was asleep when he did. Would he kill me? Would he ignore me? What is death like? What is it like to stare him in the eye and see that blade-the thought sent a cold burst of electricity down her back-see that blade coming at her throat. Morgan gave a barely muffled cry. She sat up, bolt upright, and scooted backwards until her back was against the comforting solidity of the wall. She had heard footsteps on her porch; heavy, booted footsteps. And just under the thumping of heavy boots, the tiny tinkle of metal. The tinkle made by spurs as they spun. Morgan grabbed her trusty poker and tried to fold herself into the plank floor or the log walls behind her. A tiny moan of fear escaped her lips, and the thought came, foolishly, that she should douse the fire before he killed her, so the house wouldn't burn down. She prayed he'd leave her be. THe door opened and he stepped inside. His eyes looked grey in the moonlight. His pale skin glittered like silver. Morgan was filled with two things; burning attraction and searing fear. Part of her wanted to run to him. The other part warned her to stay away. While her body fought with itself, she watched his eyes skim around the room. She hunkered low as the glacial gaze swept over her, passed over her, returned to her and stayed there. She met his eyes with terror and something else. Something she dared not admit. With a primal survival instinct, up she sprung, and she charged at him. She saw his eyes get wide, and she tackled him. They fell to the ground. Morgan was out the door before the Hessian, stunned by the impact, had gotten to his feet. She saw his horse nicker at her, and she ran next door to the Gjiberton's. His footsteps echoed behind her. She reached up to pound the back of the door. A gloved hand snaked round and clamped over her mouth, spinning her around to look up into cold, shining blue eyes. She fainted in the arms of the Hessian.

Klaus rolled his eyes and slung the woman over his shoulder. He walked back to Daredevil and mounted the horse, and let the steed make it's own way to the Tree of the Dead. He had only wanted questions answered, but he had chased her all over the village and could not risk her calling for help. He could not just leave her either, it'd have sparked something he really did not want to deal with. He sighed and dismounted; they were at the tree. The roots waved and opened for him, like a charmed snake. He carried Morgan inside and set her on the pallet of fur he slept on. The floor would do for him. Daredevil jumped into the tree and stood in his stable. Klaus unsaddled him and stroked the horse's soft flanks. His ribs ached from where the woman-fiery bitch-had tackled him. And there was a bump on the back of his head. "Mien kopf Schmertz...1" He said to the wall. "Mensch2!" He spat at the fainted form. He curled up against the wall and whispered more cursewords to himself softly, staring begrudgingly at many inanimate objects including his boot, the ceiling, his sword and the dead bug in the corner. She hat fire, and a core of steel, to charge at him like she had.

Ok, another chapter done-ito. Sorry about how inaccurate the German is, I used Babylon online translator. Translations; 1, 'my head hurts', 2 'Bitch!' ^^

Please don't flame me for bad translating skills. It's not my fault, honest! More swearing up ahead, including Morgan and Klaus having a staring contest and then going swimming. Unintentionally. Seeyaaaaaaaaaaaaaa peeps.


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